


They Were One

by LiseReader



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sense8 (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Sense8 (TV) Fusion, Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Betrayal, Biologic Preservation Organization (BPO), Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Don't Have to Know Sense8 Canon, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Friendship, Hydra (Marvel), Inspired By Sense8, M/M, Multi, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Room (Marvel), Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiseReader/pseuds/LiseReader
Summary: A man kills himself in the ruins of a Church in New York. His death link mysteriously the existence of eight individuals scattered across the world.MCU Sense8 AU
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Christine Palmer/Stephen Strange, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Jane Foster/Thor, Nakia (Black Panther)/T'Challa, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Kudos: 7





	1. Reborn

First, there was silence.  
  
On the floor of a crumpled church covered in dust and debris laid a dirty mattress. The usual white fabric was yellow in some spots, but it didn't seem to bother the man laying on it.  
  
A used grey shirt was clinging to his skin, and droplets of sweat ran on his black skin. Even in his sleep, his brows were furrowed in obvious pain. The groan escaping his chapped lips disturbing the quiet atmosphere of the night.  
  
Another painful moan made his way out of his mouth as he tossed and turned in his sleep. It didn't take long before the man was wide awake and urgently searching under the damaged mattress and blankets.  
  
Founding a metallic box, he opened it with shaking hands. Another wave of pain rushed through the man making him drop the box. He fumbled in the dark, muttering various curses as he reached for it.  
  
Suddenly, the man screamed in agony his trembling hand covered his mouth. Not wanting to be heard, but it was too late, someone, somewhere, only for a moment had felt it, the deep pain of child birthing, and it was enough because seconds later , another man was holding him in his arms.  
  
"Ah, giving life is always so painful isn't it, Nick ?" whispered the man, his hand softly caressing Nick's face.  
  
"Don't call me that," Nick answered, grinding his teeth in disarray, shaking the man's grip. It didn't seem to bother the grey-haired man, instead, he focused on his surrounding, passing calculating eyes over the room .  
  
" Of course, of course, after all, you are always so furious. What a better name than Nick Fury for a man such as yourself," he responded absently, "is your dear pilot here? Well, it doesn't matter anyway we are almost here. "  
  
Nick let out another painful groan, panting, he crawled to the bed all the while ignoring the other man's voice whispering _what_ _are you doing, Nick ?_ _Do you really think you have one last trick left? Of course not, it's too late._  
  
And it was too late for him, but not for them. He touched the familiar metal of the gun, slowly bringing it to his temple. His hand shook, but he knew what he had to do and he closed his eyes thinking of blond hair and the feeling of the wind against his skin.  
  
"Carol," he whispered sadly, "take good care of them."  
  
And with one last scream, the vision of height beautiful people, the yelling of an angry man, he shot and all was quiet again.


	2. Meeting With A Stranger

**New York, United States of America**  


  
In the haze of sleep, Steve Rogers, was distantly aware of the beeping of a machine next to him as numerous people dressed in white frantically filled the room.  
  
It should worry him, but Steve didn't care, his sole intention focussing on the stranger in front of him. The man stood tall and proud, Steve could almost see him wearing a beautiful tuxedo, all serious and proper. It visibly contrasted with the man's look composed of dirty clothing clinging to his skin. Steve couldn't help but think that they were the most ill-fitting clothes the stranger had ever worn.   
  
The unfamiliar man approached him and smiled softly. At that, Steve felt an inexplicable deep sadness. He knew this look and had seen it numerous times, it was one of a soldier confidently marching to his death.   
  
It was one he had been wearing himself not too long ago.   
  
However, the most shocking part about the strange was his smile, it was more of an upper quirk of the lips, but still, Steve could feel the luxury of it. This man didn't smile at a lot of people and cared for them even less.  
Yet, Steve knew that this little movement of his lips was a sign of love, and the fact that he was one of them left him breathless as waves of affection overfilled his heart.   
  
It had been so long since Steve had felt so sure of being cherished unconditionally.   
  
Hands coming to grab the stranger but too weak to move more than an inch, Steve could only muster a soft 'no' as the man suddenly disappeared.   
  
He wouldn't be able to realize that waves of tears were running down his cheeks as sleep took hold of him. 

**Valaskjálf, Asguard**

Golden hair delicately being combed, Thor Odinson, closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of hands softly caressing his head. He sighed in contentment, ignoring the voice of his little brother ringing in his mind, Loki had always loved to tease him about his similarities between him and a dog. The most common trait being is love for petting, Thor prefers to use the technical term of head massage, sometimes he would even call it caress but not _petting_. It was so infuriating, but Loki couldn't be stopped when he initiated one of his numerous mischiefs and so Thor endured the comparison, even if Loki had shouted loudly around the magnificent castle making every inhabitant aware of his new discovery. 

Plus, as soon as the servant had learned of his love of fingers scratching his head, instead of mocking him as Loki and Thor thought, they had rushed to his side and propose with eagerness to do it for him.

Thor remembered how Loki had looked completely baffled by the maid reaction and pouted as another one of his plans had failed. He found it funny, that all his brother's projects seemed to constantly end up helping the one he wanted to tease more than anything else.

Thor felt his grip of consciousness slowly fading, but before he would succumb to sleep, he opened his eyes. Right in front of him stood a golden dresser and in it was a mirror decorated with sculptures of flourishing vegetations and animals, representing Yggdrasil and the numerous animals inhabiting the mythological tree. 

Thor easily distinguished where each one of them was located. He smiled humorously when his eyes found, the little squirrel, Ratatoskr, scurrying up and down the Norse tree of life. Thor would never tell it to anyone but the little red beast reminded him of his brother. Always causing trouble. 

Opening his mouth to thank and dismiss the servant still massaging his head, Thor closed it abruptly when he looked at the reflection in the golden adorned mirror.

There was a man right behind him and Thor couldn't help but gap like a fish out of water at the man's obvious bad shape, sweats clung to his skin and his clothes were composed of numerous holes, his eye patch was the sole thing clean about him.

When the stranger's hand softly stroking his head, Thor looked at him in shock and confusion. He turned around with wide eyes, ready to ask a myriad of questions but the man was gone. 

Thor was left staring shockingly at the mirror and behind him numerous times, searching for the stranger as the feeling of loss rush through him. 

Distantly, he could hear the voice of the servant calling in a panic about a crying prince and needing help. 

Thor hadn't realized he was crying until the panicking voice of the maid reached his ears. But when the realization came crashing down, Thor couldn't stop anymore.

When Sif, with tied chestnut hair and her weapon drawn, entered the room, looking at every spot of the chamber for a thread, ready to fight and protect, Thor let out a broken sob. Because she couldn't fight this feeling in his stead and he longed for it to be as easy as defeating a foe, but it was not and the realization made him cry even more than before. 

Eyes widening in surprise, Sif abandoned her weapon in shock at the scene in front. Usually, Thor would have already turned red with embarrassment, dried his tears, and act as nothing had ever happened. However, today was different, and Thor could feel his heart breaking with grief.

Letting out another sob, he suddenly rushed out of his chair, running into his friend's arms, hugging her as close as he could. She murmured soothing words to him, but the feeling of a hand against his head made him cry even harder. 

**Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan**

In a dark cave, Tony Stark stood over a table, numerous metal pieces were put on it in a seemingly disorganizing mess but Tony knew where and what to do with each one of them. 

The black-haired man looked at the pieces placed on the damaged desk, then at the paper in his wounded hand back and forth numerous times. Foot tapping against the floor in an agitating rhythm, Tony bit his lips in concentration, writing quickly on the small yellowing scrap of paper.

He tensed with anticipation as he felt someone gaze on him. It felt suddenly too hot and dirty in the cave. Dust and droplets of sweat covered his skin, his hair felt greasy against his head and Tony didn't dare to touch them. He was getting dirtier as the time spent in his cell grown longer. Sometimes Tony would find himself daydreaming about what he would do when he would get out of this hell, the top list kept bouncing between eating a delicious hamburger or bathing, enjoying the pleasant feeling of hot clear water against his skin and being clean.

He smiled with self-derision. It seemed like Tony would be getting the bath he so longed for soon, with a little bit of waterboarding on the top.

Slowly looking up from his work, he prepared himself for another painful biting and was surprised to see another man with an eyepatch on his left eyes looking at him. He stood stoically at the other side of the table, carefully assessing his unusual surrounding, walls of rocks encircling numerous tables full of blueprints, pieces of paper and sticky notes. Finally, he gazed at the various pieces of gleaming metal in the room with an understanding look.

Tony didn't dare to move, talk, or even breath, he didn't need to see both of his eyes to know that the stranger was furious and how weird it felt to know the man was furious _for him_ and not _at him_.

Tony didn't have time to properly register what happened before the stranger turned back to face him, and with a slight smile, disappeared.

It took all of Tony's courage to ask Yinsen with wide eyes and obvious disarray if he saw the stranger, but by the look Yinsen gave him, Tony quickly understood with a bitter laugh that he was slowly going mad.

Looking back at his work, he tried his best to hide his trembling frame as deep fear and most of all sadness filled his being. 

If Yisen saw the tears in his eyes, he was kind enough to not mention them.

**The Hawks Nest, New York 97, United States of America**

  
Stephen Strange was falling, the peculiar feeling of being in midair, suspended for only a breathless second remembered him of a roller coaster.

That was until it all came crashing down.

If he was still conscious, the doctor would be able to see a running strange rushing to his side, the man suddenly disappearing the moment Stephen closed his eyes. 

**Los Angeles, United States of America**

Sitting in a comfortable chair, Bruce Banner, scolded at the pill of paper in front of him. Letting out an exhausted sigh, he took off his glasses, whipped them, carefully places them back and read the paper laid on the table again. He scrunched his nose in displeasure, apparently cleaning his glasses did not help in resolving his problem. 

Bruce groaned in pain, the feeling of a headache forming at the back of his head wasn't helping him. Reaching for the white mug next to him, Bruce quickly realized its emptiness when no black, hot liquor touched his lips.

Getting ready to stand up, Bruce stretched, enjoying the way his sore muscle relaxed as he prepared himself for the walk to the nearest coffee machine. However, as soon as he got up, he fell back into his plush chair in shock. 

A man, with visibly dusty clothes and an eye patch of all things, was observing him behind one of the numerous transparent windows of the office. He looked around the room in apparent confusion, even if this place was reserved solely for him, maybe this man was looking for someone else?

Turning back to the stranger, Bruce excepted to see him still standing, gazing longingly at him with a kind eye, but there was no one. He rushed to the door, looking around with worried, an unexpected wave of overwhelming fear surging in his heart when he merely found an empty alley and no sign of the mysterious man. 

Bruce couldn't explain it, but he knew that the stranger was dead, never to be seen again. His breath came out in sudden gasps and he started the only calming exercise that helped when the bubble of relentless fury residing inside of him came out in uncontrollable waves. 

Softly humming his mother's lullaby, Bruce wiped the tears falling on his cheeks.

**Royal Palace of Wakanda, Birnin Zana, Wakanda**

T'Challa sat in front of the majestic statue of a panther, with her jaw opened in a silent raw, the Prince could almost hear the echoing screamed of the mighty Bast. She was the goddess that blessed his country with rich resources, Wakanda, which remained a peaceful nation thank to her, and T'Challa would always thank her for her gift.

He turned to leave the room when he distinguished a man standing next to the roaring panther. He looked at him and back at the statue in evident amusement, his left eye was hidden behind an eye patch but it didn't dismiss the twinkling of his right orb.

T'Challa frowned at the stranger, it was a private room only reserve for the royal family and their guards. This man, even with his messy appearance stood straight and had the sharp features of an experienced soldier. He could be one of the royal guards but T'Challa would have remembered him, especially with the additional accessory on his face making him easily recognizable.

Opening his mouth to demand who exactly this stranger was, T'Challa could only watch with surprise as he disappeared in a blink of an eye.

T'Challa ran around the circular room, panic coursing through his veins. The idea of a stranger suddenly appearing and disappearing should have been the logic behind his fear. However, it was the idea of the stranger disappearing forever and leaving him alone that made anxious tears fall from his eyes.

He rushed out of the room, searching in every corner for the man but still he knew deep inside of him that he was gone. Forever.

T'Challa suddenly stopped running, the realization striking him as painful as a vehicle high speeding right at him. He fell to the ground in distress, crying in anguish as unbearable grief invaded his aching heart. Someone was holding him although it felt so far away, T'Challa could tell the voices spoke to him and he tried to distinguish them through the foggy haze of pain. Trying and failing to concentrate on everything else but the wound in his heart.

The arms holding close should have felt comforting, instead, it only made him cry harder.

**Missouri, United States of America**

Clint Barton was cooking, he peered at his wife in the living room and smiled at the scene taking place.

Lila and Cooper were sitting on each side of their mother, softly touching her round stomach and letting out delightful giggles when their still unborn sibling kicked and punched against their little hands.

Laura was obviously amused by their antics as peals of joyous laughter echoed in the house, it only came to a muffled sound to Clint's ears but he could still tell she was enjoying herself, Laura's sparkling browns eyes winkled on the corner when she was deeply entertained by their children.

Clint looked back at the food, he wasn't an amazing cooker and he tried to always keep a watchful eye on the ingredients. It wouldn't be the first that his mind kept him from concentrating on the task in front of him, only leaving a burning mess to eat. Hence, why Clint looked at the food in front of him with as much attention as he would before shooting an arrow.

Suddenly, peering over his shoulder, looking at the heating meal stood a man. A stranger, with unwashed clothes and skin. In shock, Clint took a step back, knocking over the bowl of tomato sauce he had especially prepared.

Gazing at the red liquid and the unknown man before him, Clint couldn't help the sad and confusing note of his voice as his hands moved rapidly, asking what was the stranger doing here.

The stranger never answered him as he disappeared right in front of him.

Running to his wife, Clint urgently ask if she saw anything but she only responded with pursed lips and a slight shake of her head. She smiled at him and said with a mischievous smile that the stress of childbirth was getting to his head, obviously teasing him as she was the one carrying their baby for more than 5 months.

Making his way to the kitchen, Clint looked at the red liquid covering the floor and he could almost hear the clear sound of a shot ringing in his head. With trembling hands, Clint sat on the ground and cleaned the mess, not realizing the droplets of tears running downs his cheeks.

**Paris, France**

For Natasha Romanoff, seducing any man or woman was as easy as breathing. One of the primary subjects of her education was to discover with only a look at her target the role suiting to their taste and immediately adapt her behavior.

Her objective, if possible, was to let her target come to her, letting them entangled themselves in her webs. It was always the best mission when the fool run after her and didn't even realize it was too late from the moment they laid eyes on her.

The fool talking next to her seemed to be one of them, with multiples military medals pinned on his chest and a glass of wine in his hands, he was talking animatedly to her. All hands and big gestures trying to impress her about some war story that Natasha only listened with one ear.

Slowly bringing her glass to her rosy lips, she acted like she couldn't feel the other man's gaze on her lips as he swallowed in nervousness and excitement.

Natasha carefully assessed her surroundings, the empty dance floor was full of people, their bodies grinding against each other, numerous hands traveled behind clothes, and some openly kissed with arousal leaving the building in a hurry or running to the nearest bathroom.

Natasha knew the time to discreetly leave the party was coming. No one was paying attention to her and her target and by the not so discreet look, he was shooting her, he definitely wanted to be one of the people running to the closest dark place.

Natasha placed a hand against his arms, acting a little drunk and falsely stumbling in his arms as he took hold of her, a predicated movement that brought their face so close that she could smell his alcoholic breath. Fighting the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust, Natasha apologized in embarrassment as the skin of her cheeks became a little red.

As expected, her target only reassured her and got a little bolder as Natasha didn't move from their position, focusing her fascinated gaze on lips as if she had seen the most tempting meals in her life. She startled from her supposed trance and nibbled her lips in shame, staring fiercely at the man with one of the multiples heated looks she had to learn. His hand traveled to her back and Natasha knew the moment he squeezed her bottom that this man would be dead in hours.

She acted shy, all youthful amazement in her eager gaze as he asked her if she would like to get away from the party. With a nod of her head, he eagerly directed her to the exit of the building.

Natasha cast one discrete look behind her verifying that no one had seen them when her eyes catch the sight of a black man dressed in dirty clothes in the crowds of dancing bodies.

He was so out of place that Natasha startled in her step, with ease she acted as if she had stumbled in her anticipation and looked back at the man with a shy smiled as she admitted it.

Natasha searched for him in the crown, however, she only found the mass of people and no sign of the stranger.

Felling tears running down her cheeks, Natasha stopped walking, eyes wide in shock. It was unusual and unheard of that one of the Red Room girls could still cry with genuine tears of sadness after all they had gone through.

She came out of her haze when her target asked her worryingly what was wrong, and Natasha smiled perfectly at him as she explained how her ankles hurt because of her clumsiness and stumbled into his arms to prove the point.

The drunken man had soon forgotten about anything being wrong as he escorted her to his car, Natasha walked next to him falsely listening as her mind focused on the mysterious stranger.


End file.
